by Scott Rhine
“Fine. I’ll bill the trip here as a diplomatic mission. The academy wanted my help with a science problem. We owe a debt to our uplifters. Blah, blah, blah.”
“That’s the spirit.”
In a few moments, Reuben changed clothes to play his political persona. Around his neck, he wore a cravat over the goggles strap.
As he clasped hands with the door guard, the transformation was staggering. No one would suspect the torment he’d been through.
The loudest area of the station was under renovation, so Kesh wandered that direction. The smell of sauerkraut and shrimp assaulted his nostrils as the workers opened lunchboxes. He handed out new entertainment libraries to the crew like a Saurian Santa.
Four were polite and offered to share food with Reuben.
At first, he demurred. Then, he noticed something unusual on a slice of pizza. “You have pineapple!”
“Yeah. So?” said the leader, taking another bite.
“On Tansdahl, they were limited to the bare essentials: potatoes, algae, and tank-grown fish.”
The lead worker explained. “To keep us healthy and encourage nonmeat diets over the years, the Magi have given our farm crews ag bots to help tend crops. The fruit specialist looks like a big spider. It builds a web around each apple so it doesn’t get bruised during a fall from the tree.”
“Farmers?”
“We have a support crew of thirty people for our four shifts worth of specialists, including a doctor and family.” Fewer wouldn’t seem like a herd, and Goats needed to feel that connection.
“Any single women?” Reuben asked.
“We have the cafeteria lady and a few barmaids.”
“Really?”
Kesh signaled for his friend to mute the media ball. In English, he asked, “Is this appropriate?”
“Let’s see… someone forgot my nurse, and I still have to provide MI-23 with samples. They’re not going to take themselves. I can’t ask Daisy, can I? How would that chat go? You’ve suffered a huge loss, but I have something else huge to take your mind off of it.”
Pizza man snickered. Switching languages wasn’t as safe as they’d imagined.
Reuben hit the resume button. “Did I tell you about the time I asked a waitress for calamari? That’s a Human Italian word for squid, but in Banker it means—”
Kesh redirected the interview. “Would the Magi consider selling any of these ag bots to remote stations in the Goat realm? The Ram has expressed concern that the troops stationed at Mnamnabo and the smelters at Tansdahl suffer from malnutrition.”
The leader shrugged. “We have an extra if the Ram needs it.” He provided the inventory code. “It checks water drip levels constantly and learns how to tell which fruit is ripe enough to harvest.”
“Does it pick off insects?”
“No. That’s a little violent for the Magi. Fortunately, space stations can be kept pest-free.”
Finding the order form, Kesh coughed at the eighth-of-a-million credit price tag.
Reuben glanced over his shoulder and whistled.
Kesh said, “We’ll ship the extra to Mnamnabo, and my foundation will buy one as a case study for the scrapyard. This sounds like something that may be useful at the Mimic observation post.”
“What’s that?” asked another local.
Reuben described the adventure at length, including the diplomatic trip to Bright Frontier. This seemed out of character until he mentioned being without a consort for the third time. The broadcast would be sent live to the locals, and he clearly wanted eligible young ladies to seek him out.
Changing the subject back to the workers, Kesh asked, “What’s your current assignment?”
“The next load of energy crystals won’t come in for another ten days, so we’re on a demolition project in the meantime,” said pizza man, wiping the sauce from his beard. “Each room in the ring is replaced every five hundred years to keep up with current codes. This month, we’re gutting offices and replacing them with classrooms.”
“Fascinating,” Reuben said, with his fake smile. “How is this different than work back home? What skills do you need that the average worker might not have?”
“I have a degree in materials science with a minor in physics.”
“To perform exterior repairs on ships?”
“No,” said the lead worker. “For the wall blade. It’s very dangerous in the wrong hands.” He raised the device for the camera. It looked like a typical half-meter saw, except the blade was carefully sheathed and labeled with warnings in six languages. “It’s only a few molecules thick, which makes it really sharp.”
“Anyone could have nanowidth tools. We used water saws and plasma lances at the scrapyards.”
Looking both ways, pizza man removed the caution casing. It had a bright red line along the front edge. “The Magi added something extra to this one. It has a gravity boost feature.” He approached a two-meter tall ceramic culvert and donned his protective earpieces. Starting the blade sounded like a jet engine.
A janitor abandoned his post to come watch.
Pizza man raised it above the peak of the culvert. “Fire in the hole!” When he pushed the giant blue button on the thumb rest, the blade dropped straight to the floor as if it were slicing a cucumber.
Once the gray dust cleared, Reuben proclaimed, “I want one.”
Though handy, the Magi would never allow such a device to be used in warfare. Kesh said, “We’re thirsty. How about you take us to this famous bar of yours?”
“Since when did you have an interest in buxom women?” Reuben demanded.
“Can you imagine the Bat with one of those devices?” His tail twitched at the thought.
“Fine. I’ll chase a few ewes next as a personal favor to you, but you’ll owe me.”
****
The bar turned out to be a rough place, operating in the gray areas of Union regulations. They didn’t serve colorful drinks with umbrellas. One had a choice between bad beer and vodka made from potato peels. Kesh immediately radioed the ship for backup.
When the Bat arrived, swaggering under the weight of his weapons, he asked, “Where’s Reuben?”
“He stepped into the backroom with a barmaid called Lola to negotiate a weekly fee for services. The Magi are great at keeping people healthy, but the concept of personal property eludes them. I want you around in case she tries to roll him for his credit stick. There’s no MI-23 here to vet the working woman.”
“So she’s going to work our mess hall?”
“I hope not, but I wouldn’t put it past him.” Kesh paused when he realized how naïve the young Bat was. “He’s determined to spread his seed.”
“Does this have to do with those ag bots you ordered? Because I’d like more strawberries.”
Kesh palmed his forehead. “No. He wants to be squeezed dry.”
His face remained puzzled.
A nubile young tart with the same fur color as him approached Menelaus and whispered in his ear.
“I think I’d like that, Miss Bambi.” He turned to Kesh. “Do I have fifty credits?”
He should enjoy himself before he dies. “Yes, but not until Reuben returns. I don’t want to lose our whole crew on the first afternoon.” Kesh deposited a handful of Blue Giant Hydrogen coins on the table. He considered how much effort had gone into establishing these as an alternate Human currency if the Bankers went offline.
Menelaus took a seat with his back to the corner. He placed his staff across the round table top.
“I’ll bring you a drink while you’re waiting,” Bambi said, sashaying behind the bar. When she came back, she sat on his lap and twirled her fingers through his hair. “Your arms are very strong.”
To distract Menelaus from the promise of impending sex, Kesh asked, “With all our supposed enlightenment, how can we be on the verge of war again?”
Bambi replied, “Cultivated aggression.”
Menelaus closed his eyes as she leaned over and stole a sip from
his drink bulb.
Useless mammals. While Reuben haggled, perhaps Bambi could provide conversational simulation. Kesh asked, “Have you been to university?”
“I didn’t enroll, but I know enough.”
“Indeed. My friend Max has discussed the theory of a gene responsible for culling behavior in Phibs. They’ve offered to breed it out.”
“Never happen,” Bambi insisted. “If we eliminate all vestige of aggression, that’s self-mutilation. Who’s to say a member of that minority wouldn’t save the Union someday? Remember when all the Mnamnabonian growers switched to the best genetically modified potato and then blight wiped them out? Nature requires variety as a survival mechanism.”
Kesh asked, “So you’ve ‘dated’ an evolutionary biologist?”
“Philosophy students. Much more willing to take a walk on the wild side.”
“I agree with the philosophers. My friend Max is a null, despised and feared as nonsentient, but he was one of the most decorated heroes of the war.”
“Exactly. We need the outliers in case someone attacks us.”
“Like who?” He wondered if she knew anything about Glory Point. Either way, he could use her ideas as an argument against wholesale slaughter of the cold-bloods in their sleep.
“The Turtles have interacted with several races from outside the Gigaparsec.”
“Interesting. You’re saying our patrons may need the unsavory aspects of society to save the whole.”
She shrugged, leaning forward for a second slow sip.
Menelaus’s voice seemed higher than normal. “Can I please have my turn now?”
“No,” Kesh insisted. “Focus on your duty. The longer you wait, the better it’ll feel.”
“I don’t see how it could feel any better.”
Bambi nibbled on his neck.
“You win!”
Kesh tossed another coin on the stack. “I’m enjoying our talk. Keep it up, and there’s a tip in it for you.”
She chuckled knowingly.
“Seriously, we’re slated to be here a month. I’d like to meet with you on a regular basis.”
“Can I tease him while we talk?” she asked.
“By all means.”
Menelaus whimpered.
19. Sowing Seeds
Kesh was next in line, waiting for one of the rare weekly audiences from an academy bureaucrat. Instead of a hologram, Roz herself stormed through the hatch.
“Did you change your mind?” he asked.
“No, but I didn’t want to waste our time with these ignoramuses.”
She strode so fast that he had to run to keep up.
“What’s wrong? Have traditionalist factions of the academy been resisting?”
“They’re all stuck in the past and in denial. All they can see is the sand they’ve buried their heads under. I’m breaking Echo out of the hospital, and we’re gone.”
Roz commandeered a mag-lev car. The railway looped the entire station. She didn’t need to flash a badge or type a code. It merely halted at her order. It resumed once she piled in.
Kesh had to hop onto the bumper and hold on for dear life. He didn’t dare ask more questions for fear of aggravating her further. As they approached the hospital wing, the car slowed to a halt and announced, “Authorized personnel only.”
Taking the hint, Kesh climbed off and limped back to their private dock. He had pulled a ligament during a sharp turn, nothing a few days in hot sand wouldn’t fix. At least his cast was off now. Over his badge, he warned Max, “Roz is pissed.”
“Did someone call her an idiot throwback, a heretic, or an abomination?”
“Why don’t you poke that bear? Prepare for immediate departure.”
“With or without our escorts?” asked Max.
“Depends on whether they can make it to Deep 6 in time and can stay out of her sight.”
“Roger.”
Kesh used his computer link to make sure all their provisions had been stowed. According to the ship’s AI, Menelaus was off-ship. “Landing gear up in fifteen,” he told the Bat.
A muzzy voice replied, “What?”
“Someone insulted the enlightened one. You need to head back to the ship, or you’ll be left behind.”
He heard kissing in the background. “I could live with that.”
“You’d really miss the battle of a lifetime, the culmination of all your training?”
Menelaus groaned with disappointment rather than lust. “I’ll be there. Where’s my belt?”
He severed the connection, unwilling to listen to the farewell. When he reached the dock, the hallway had been sealed and the barrier turned opaque. He couldn’t board until the Magi did, for security and health reasons.
Kesh had been waiting in twenty minutes when a sheepish Menelaus appeared at his elbow. “She didn’t want me to go.”
“Without extracting the last of your coins.”
The Bat said, “It wasn’t like that.”
“You mammals think with your glands.”
Lola passed by in handcuffs, led by a floating bot.
“What are you charged with?” Kesh asked, worried. “Did you do anything to the Black Ram?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a victimless crime, a technicality. I sent most of the frozen samples to MI-23 like he asked. If we had real sex, it would all be mine. How’s keeping one vial worse than dealing drugs?”
“You wanted to get pregnant?”
She sneered. “No. I want to leave this station. Do you know how much that vial sold for on the black market? I’m still spreading his precious seed. What can they do to me?”
Kesh locked eyes with her. “At best, his enemies would experiment with his DNA trying to customize a tailored virus. At worst, the Bankers would breed replicas of him and learn how to subjugate all Rams. Without cameras or MI-23 to protect them, his children would be open to torture and slavery.”
She flinched. “They didn’t mention that.”
“The Bankers?”
“Yeah.”
If she played things right, the Bankers might pay for her defense. He didn’t envy the evidence clerk.
Soon, the barrier retracted, allowing the men passage to their ship and her to the brig.
With barest twinge of regret, Lola said, “Tell Reuben there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
When she was out of earshot, Kesh whispered, “Except the sea we’re heading to is filled with tentacled monsters who hate him.”
As he entered the airlock, he could feel the engines vibrating through the deck plates.
In the locker room, Kesh cursed. The wall blade hung from a hook in Reuben’s alcove. “Take that back to the construction site.”
“I’m sorry. I’m too stupid to find that place on a map.” Menelaus headed toward the elevator.
All Kesh could see was the Bat’s back as he hobbled after. “Ouch. Please. I can’t manage it myself.” Getting old sucked. The low g helped him to follow using handholds.
Menelaus stopped off at his quarters on the way, so Kesh was able to catch up. “It’s stolen property. I don’t want to be strip-searched again.”
The Bat giggled a recent memory. “Do you mind? I need to brush my teeth before stasis. They say no time passes, but I always wake up with a horrible taste in my mouth if I don’t brush. Some bacteria must be immune to the effect.” He closed the door in Kesh’s face.
Kesh continued to the navigation chamber. He didn’t need to ask questions because Roz was explaining at high volume. “They can’t extrapolate from an anomaly. My talent makes me a freak.”
Echo tried to calm her. “They admitted you were a galaxy-class pilot and psi. Where’s the insult?”
“Until I prove otherwise, Deep 6 is a fluke. I’m the reason the drive works.”
“Ridiculous,” Echo said. “We have the equations.”
“We have to reproduce the experiment at the shipyard before they’ll authorize any further study. The discovery of the century lan
ds at their feet, and they’re too timid to touch it. They had the nerve to imply we’ll end up like the Mnamnabonian sun if we jump too many times.”
This was a sobering thought. Kesh slunk toward his suspended-animation unit. Whether or not the academy was right, they’d planted the seed of doubt in Roz’s mind. In a realm where thoughts shaped reality, undermining her confidence could result in a self-fulfilling prophecy. That hardest part of the prototype was that no one person understood everything completely. Half the repairs Roz had applied were bailing wire and spit. What happened to them when the spit dried?
20. Deconstruction
The ship jumped an impossible distance into Magi territory in the blink of an eye. Adamantine was the largest of the three Magi shipyards, and the only one capable of forging warships. When Deep 6 arrived, its fuel tanks were dry. The external antennae and drives were twisted by some unexplained force. The hallways were scoured clean as if the top layer of molecules had been stripped.
Reuben gazed at the monitors in disbelief. “Whew. Don’t drive angry.”
“If you’re the only one who can do this, they’ll accede to any demands you make,” Kesh hinted.
“What’s he talking about?” Max asked.
“They’ve been waiting for us,” Roz said, avoiding the issue. A swarm of curious spacecraft descended on their prototype like locusts on a wheat field. Tugboats attached to pull them into an enormous construction framework. “Now we’ll see who’s right.”
A shuttle from the ruling council arrived soon after. They hailed the Deep 6, honoring Roz as more of a celebrity than Reuben had been among the Goats. One sycophant floated the idea of changing the Magi calendar to restart with the moment of her speech to the Convocation. They apologized profusely for her snub at Bright Frontier.
Glancing at the comm logs, Kesh realized she hadn’t filed a flight plan, just vanished from normal space without a word. They were terrified they’d lost their key to a once-in-a-millennium revelation.
Questions flooded every comm channel on the console.
